


It's Been So Long Since I've Seen the Sun

by eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: M/M, a buddy of mine and i have taken suffering's hand in marriage at this point, im so sorry, rpverse things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:03:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6185218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar/pseuds/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And failure on my part to intercede has now ironically,<br/>Or cosmically,<br/>Like poetry,<br/>Come in between our destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Been So Long Since I've Seen the Sun

Choking.

 

That’s what Nero’s doing - oh yes, that’s registering now. He can’t breathe, there’s something in his lungs, something bubbling with each breath he draws in. The feeling only makes him cough harder, lungs desperately trying to expel whatever liquid been trapped within them. 

His claws dig and scratch desperately at whatever he’s laid out on. It’s grainy - am I on the ground? He thinks he has to be, it’s not the wood flooring of the shop. Why would I be outside? I can’t see, there’s something in my eyes. There’s something in my mouth. I want to stand but-- 

“Agh!” That hurts. Nero prods gently at his side. There are scrapes, heavy bruising already, but there aren’t any… Open wounds. 

This isn’t demon blood. Nero forces his eyes open, blinking rapidly and trying to get whatever substance stuck to his lashes off. It’s… Just blood. Where the fuck is all this coming from, it’s not like he’d taken anyone else on this--

“Dante,” The younger hunter gasps. He _had_  brought someone. Rather, someone else had brought him. “Dante, are you…?”

No response. Nero can’t tell what emotion is his own, and where their bond stands. Everything _hurts_ , even uninjured parts of himself. It burns, he feels as though he’s on fire, and with each attempt to force himself into consciousness, the feeling intensifies. “Dante,” He tries again, blinking harshly and looking around.

It’s the sudden loud heave for breath that draws the hunter’s attention. It’s more than a gasp, it’s a wordless plea for air, and Nero suddenly feels like he’s been stabbed between the ribs. His Devil Bringer immediately reaches to apply pressure over the spot, and his human hand helps him to at least sit up on his knees. He looks down, off to the side and forward, before--

“ _Dante_!” 

Nero skitters to his feet, staggering and stumbling to Dante’s side. The elder lies mostly motionless on his back, white hair strewn out of his face. He would look like Vergil, perhaps, if he didn’t look so… Pale. “Dante,” The smaller sobs out, “Dante, hey.” 

There isn’t much of a response. Dante shifts, as if trying to lift himself up off the ground before he stops, going slack again.

“Hey.”

Nero almost missed it. His words are so soft, so quiet, he was almost sure he’d only imagined the words leaving his mate’s mouth. He’s quick to help Dante into his lap, gripping one of his hands with his own left one. 

It’s grotesque. Dante wasn’t just impaled but _crushed_ , and it’s clear by the way his chest almost seems caved; Shattered bones. He’s breathing but only in harsh gasps and wheezes. 

“I gotcha,” Nero tries not to cling. He only further pushes Dante’s hair back to look at him, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’re not gonna die.”

“Look,” Dante rasps, looking down at himself, “I’m finally _h-holey_ , Nero.”

“Stoppit.” The boy ceases holding his tears back now. They pour unrestricted down his cheeks, carving clean lines in the blood still on his face.

 

...Oh god, if it’s not my blood, it’s his.

 

The sudden realization that Dante’s blood is in his _mouth_ , stuck in his eyes and soaking through the denim of his coat is enough to make him let out a sob, enough to make him sick. But Dante squeezes Nero’s hand likely as tightly as he can,

“Shhh, baby.”

Even now, he’s trying to comfort. Nero knows he’s never liked watching anybody cry; Especially not his friends, and especially not his mate. “‘S gonna be okay, D-Dante.” 

There’s doubt in Dante’s blue eyes. Like he knows he’s going to die, and like he knows he can’t be helped. And it makes Nero sad - it destroys him, but he tries not to cry any harder than he is. “You’re,” He’s _hurting_  and Nero wants to make it go away so bad. “Gonna do good, baby."

“Hey--” Nero squeezes Dante’s hand back just as tightly. “Hey-- Hey no, nononono, you--” 

“I hope they,” Dante’s wince doesn’t go unnoticed. “Got liquor wherever I’m goin’. Gonna hafta kill this headache somehow.” 

“We’re goin’ home,” Nero chokes, “So we do.”

Dante’s still clearly disbelieving. But not cynically so - there’s sadness there. Fear, even. “Well,” Oh no. “Wake me up when we go home. Gonna take a nap.” 

“Dante,” Nero tries, “Dante you can’t-- You can’t g-go to sleep you’ve gotta stay awake--”

“Ten minutes, kiddo. Just lemme…” Dante trails off, and closes his eyes slowly. “Breathe.”

“Y-You are breathin’,” Nero argues, distressing. “And-- And you’re gonna keep breathin’ right?”

“Mhm.”

“Dante answer me, use words _please_ \--”

“I love ya, y’know. Kinda always did,” Dante wheezes, closing his eyes when Nero’s free hand pets over his cheek. “With that big loud mouth’a yers and your bedhead.”

Nero sniffs softly, “Wh-What if I went and got T-Trish a--”

“No,” Dante’s response is quick. “Stay here. Stay here.”

That breaks Nero’s fucking heart. Because somewhere deep down, he knows Dante’s just scared to die by himself.

“Okay,” Nero whispers, “‘M h-here.”

The tast of copper is starting to overtake the younger’s senses, and the phone ringing loudly is currently--

 

...Phone?

 

Nero spits and chokes, bolting upright in his bed and trying to draw in breath as though he’d been drowning. He blinks as if trying to remember where he is, and looks around. Still trying to catch his breath, he inhales and lets it back out shakily.

The phone’s blaring obnoxiously, but Nero has no mind to get up to take the call. No motivation, no fire to continue slaying demons at present. The youth pats his chest as if checking for injuries, and looks over to the right side of the bed.

...Still empty.

 

_I miss you, Dante._

**Author's Note:**

> anyways, i love to die  
> hope you guys enjoy, im a bit writing rusty ;v;


End file.
